Happy Birthday, Baby: Part Two
by chelsie fan
Summary: 1865-1866. My portion of a collaboration with Chelsie Dagger, detailing the early married life of a young Violet Crawley. No spoilers at all. You'll need to read CD's Part One first.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N STOP RIGHT THERE! If you haven't read Chelsie Dagger's "Happy Birthday, Baby: Part One," you'll need to do that before reading this. Otherwise, this won't make much sense, and you'll have missed out on a great piece of work. However, I'm guessing that most of you are coming here directly from there, any way, so it probably is not an issue.**

**This is my portion of our young Violet Crawley story, from Violet's point of view. It picks up a few years after the place where CD's last chapter left off, but I've tried to fill in the blanks. Hope you enjoy!**

**Oh. Also, the cover image of a young Maggie Smith is from .**

Happy Birthday, Baby: Part Two

August 15, 1865

"Will there be anything else, my lady?" asked Jennings as she set the tray down.

"Fetch me my stationery and a pen, Jennings. I wish to write a note to Mister Marion," answered Violet.

"Very good, my lady." The lady's maid obtained the requested items from her mistress's desk, returned with them momentarily, and set them on the tray. "Will that be all, then?"

"For now. You may collect the tray and the note in twenty minutes."

Jennings nodded deferentially and left.

As Violet ate her breakfast on a tray in her bedroom, she pondered everything that had happened in the last five years. She faced the events with her characteristic strength and stoic acceptance. She seldom spoke of the affairs of the heart, but she knew all too well the pain when it was broken. In the space of five years, she'd fallen in love, married, borne a healthy daughter, and lost two sons. One son had stopped breathing an hour after he was born, and the other had never breathed at all, having died in her womb after developing just far enough in her womb to show evidence that he had indeed been a boy.

She felt keenly her responsibility to produce a living, healthy heir. She'd failed thus far to fulfill her purpose as a wife and future countess. But she was young still, and Violet Crawley was nothing if not determined. She would yet provide her husband with a strapping young son to inherit his father's title.

She loved her daughter dearly, and she showed her affection for her little girl as much as was seemly for a woman in her position. But the loss of her sons wounded her deeply. She mourned them not only as a noblewoman who had lost an heir, but as a mother who had lost her children. To lose an heir was regrettable; to lose a child was heart-rending. She never displayed her grief at all, outwardly. Oh, she wept in the privacy of her rooms over the loss of her boys, one buried, nameless, in the children's cemetery, and the other ... Well, she'd never asked after the disposition of his remains; she preferred not to know. But to all outward appearances, she was the picture of steadfast calm.

Even from her husband, she hid her emotions. She'd been in love with him before they married, and since then, she'd only fallen more hopelessly under his spell. But she'd never told him how she felt. She wondered if perhaps he might know, or if he cared. He'd never told her how _he_ felt, either. He was a good husband, kind and devoted. She thought she might not have survived her pregnancies and the losses of their children without his tender care; she drew her strength from his constancy. He was true to her; of that, she was sure. He might not be in love with her as she was with him, but Violet Crawley would never tolerate her husband's taking a mistress. Fortunately, he'd never shown even the slightest interest in bedding another woman. Unfortunately, he'd shown only the slightest interest in bedding his own wife. This interest was shown exactly once a year, and it always occurred at Violet's prompting.

When she'd finished eating, she composed a short note to her husband. Jennings came to clear the tray, and Violet asked her to deliver the note to Marion. It was his birthday again, and her annual note inviting him to her rooms to celebrate had become a special tradition, even in the most difficult times. Sometimes Violet thought that it was this one day a year that sustained her through the other three hundred and sixty-four. This was the fifth such day since their marriage, and she intended to make it even more special than the others.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

_Later that evening…_

Violet lay in bed, on her back, naked, with the sheet drawn up to her neck, waiting for Marion. After nearly five years of marriage, they still hadn't seen each other fully in the nude. (She'd caught a glimpse of his backside once; his nightshirt had been twisted around his hips as he'd climbed out of bed one night, and she'd been treated to a lovely view of his round, white bottom in the moonlight. But that was the most intimate sight of him she'd ever been fortunate enough to enjoy.) Other than those few nights out of every month when she was indisposed, every night was the same: he came to her, did his duty, under the covers and fully clothed, and then returned to his own rooms. She knew he was only doing what was expected of him, as a husband and as a lord. It was marital duty to have relations with his wife, and it was his patriotic duty to produce an heir.

When they were first married, his nightly visits took no more than five minutes: he arrived, slid into bed with her, did what was necessary, and left her to herself. But gradually, their nighttime ritual became more involved and began to take longer. The actual coupling still never took longer than five minutes, but after a time, the preliminaries and the postlude had become quite elaborate. Over the course of time, he must have learned that certain things might be uncomfortable or unpleasant for her, and he apparently sought to minimize or eliminate those things. She appreciated the efforts he undertook on her behalf. He never spoke these things; he just did them. She was well aware he was just being courteous, but his concern and thoughtfulness only made her love him more.

Now, when he arrived in her room at night, in order to preserve her modesty, he blew out his candle and turned down the oil lamp on her bedside table. In the dark, he drew back the covers just enough to slide up the hem of her nightgown and place an extra sheet under her bottom, folded in quarters, so that her bedclothes wouldn't become soiled from their lovemaking. He arranged an extra pillow under her head and back to make her more comfortable. Then he pulled the sheet and blankets back up to her shoulders. Finally, he took off his dressing gown, climbed under the covers with her, pulled up the tails of his nightshirt, and carried out his responsibility efficiently.

Afterward, he pulled his nightshirt back down, donned his dressing gown, turned up the wick in the lamp just enough to see, and rose from the bed. He went over to her dresser, poured some water from her pitcher over a soft cloth, let the excess drain into the wash basin, and sprinkled a bit of fragrance from her dressing table on the wet cloth. Next, he returned to the bed, turned down the lamp again, sat down next to her, slipped his hands under the covers, and washed her, gently but thoroughly, cleaning away the residue from their lovemaking. Then he removed the soiled extra sheet from underneath her and set it aside with the wet cloth. Finally, he drew her nightgown back down over her legs, settled her back on her pillows, covered her back up, kissed her sweetly on the cheek, and left her to herself. On many of those nights, she cried herself to sleep, in her large, cold bed, on a pillow wet from lonely tears.

But once a year on his birthday, he came to her bedroom to stay the night. And on those nights, more than ever, she wished he would stay _every_ night, and she wished he were doing more than just his duty.

After the first time they made love in the nude, on his birthday four years ago, shortly after they were married, she made it her practice to encourage him to undress her on his birthdays, as a special treat. But it was always under cover of darkness, and it was always underneath the sheets and blankets. He would arrive in her room, place his candle on her nightstand, blow it out, and turn down the oil lamp, too. Then he would place an extra sheet at the bottom of the bed, doff his gown, and crawl under the covers next to her. He would reach down to grasp the hem of her nightgown and slip it slowly up over her legs. When he got to her thighs, she would arch her back and lift her buttocks so he could slide it over her midsection. Finally, she would sit up slightly, and he would draw the garment over her upper body and head. Then he would place the extra sheet under her bottom and remove his nightshirt. After that, he would begin his seduction in earnest. This seduction was unintentional, of course. She was certain he had no idea how much she enjoyed the things he did to her with his fingers, lips, tongue, and teeth. It was _her_ intent to seduce _him_, and she hoped she succeeded. She imagined he must be doing those things because _he_ enjoyed them, but his actions greatly pleased _her_ as well. After what seemed like hours of his driving her mad, teasing her – touching, tickling, kissing, licking, nipping, and suckling every part of her body except for those that most ached for his attention – he finally positioned himself above her and joined himself to her. At that point, it didn't take very long for either of them to achieve fulfillment.

It was only on these annual occasions, when they indulged in more than just the mechanical aspects of the marital act, that she was fully satisfied. A few times before, on typical nights, she'd tried to prepare herself for him before he'd arrived. She'd thought of him and what he'd done to her on his previous birthdays; she'd run her hands timidly over her own body, pretending they were his. But her attempts had never had the desired effect. No matter how ready she'd thought she'd been, he'd always arrived, gone about his business as usual, and just as she'd thought she might be nearing that elusive, ephemeral bliss, he'd finished and withdrawn, leaving her sorely disappointed. Once a year, however, on these special occasions, when he spent so much time and effort worshipping her body, she was more than ready for him and attained that ecstasy practically as soon as their union occurred.

But tonight … Tonight would be _especially_ special. She intended for him to see all of her, and she intended to see him in all his glory. She was already naked, and she had plans to divest him of his night clothes in short order, too. She couldn't bear the thought of his climbing into bed next to her and struggling awkwardly to remove her nightgown and his own nightshirt, in the dark, under the bed covers, while both of them pretended they didn't want to look. Violet Crawley approached this act of seduction with her trademark practicality.

A soft knock at her door alerted her to her husband's arrival.

"Darling? Are you decent?" came his voice through the door.

"You shall have to come in and see for yourself," she invited him playfully.

The door opened slowly, and Marion peered around it cautiously.

"Vi?" he called out, confusion evident in his voice and his face. His bewilderment turned to apparent panic when he saw her nightgown already pooled on the floor at the side of her bed. He croaked out a weak, "Violet!"

"Yes, dear? What is it?"

"You … Are you … naked?"

"So it would seem."

On hearing her daring words, he dropped the sheet he was holding and barely held onto his candle. When he bent to retrieve the sheet with one hand, Violet noticed that the candle in his other hand trembled violently. It thrilled her to know that she could have such an effect on her husband by doing so little. Marion set his candle on the nightstand and blew it out. When he started to turn down the wick in the lamp, she protested: "No. Leave it, please." He obeyed, wordlessly, and set the sheet at the foot of the bed. Then he walked to the other side of the bed, discarded his robe, drew back the sheet, and slid underneath. For a long moment, he just lay on his side, staring at her with a look that seemed both eager and frightened. Violet supposed she would always have to take the lead with Marion in these intimate matters, and so she did just that.

_**TBC... tomorrow!**_** Thank you for reading this first chapter. Please stick with me for the rest. And if you'd be so kind as to leave a review, you'd make me very happy.**


	2. Chapter 2

A soft knock at her door alerted her to her husband's arrival.

"Darling? Are you decent?" came his voice through the door.

"You shall have to come in and see for yourself," she invited him playfully.

The door opened slowly, and Marion peered around it cautiously.

"Vi?" he called out, confusion evident in his voice and his face. His bewilderment turned to apparent panic when he saw her nightgown already pooled on the floor at the side of her bed. He croaked out a weak, "Violet!"

"Yes, dear? What is it?"

"You … Are you … naked?"

"So it would seem."

On hearing her daring words, he dropped the sheet he was holding and barely held onto his candle. When he bent to retrieve the sheet with one hand, Violet noticed that the candle in his other hand trembled violently. It thrilled her to know that she could have such an effect on her husband by doing so little. Marion set his candle on the nightstand and blew it out. When he started to turn down the wick in the lamp, she protested: "No. Leave it, please." He obeyed, wordlessly, and set the sheet at the foot of the bed. Then he walked to the other side of the bed, discarded his robe, drew back the sheet, and slid underneath. For a long moment, he just lay on his side, staring at her with a look that seemed both eager and frightened. Violet supposed she would always have to take the lead with Marion in these intimate matters, and so she did just that.

She extricated her arms and pulled the sheet tight around her bust. She also tucked the sheet snugly around the rest of her body, hoping her husband might enjoy seeing the outline of her figure through the thin, white sheet. Violet was not falsely modest. She knew she was an attractive woman and had used that fact to her advantage many times before. She intended to use her beauty to its _fullest_ advantage tonight. Marion lay next to her, mute and motionless, eyes wide, so she took his hand and placed it on the sheet over her belly. Then she carefully lowered the sheet to where his hand stopped it, revealing her chest and midriff to him. This bold move was sufficient to spur him into action. He positioned himself so that he was propped up on one elbow but could still touch her with the hand of that arm. The other hand slid slowly higher from where it lay on her stomach, until it reached bare skin, and then it stopped.

"You are so beautiful, my love," he told her.

"Kiss me," she said.

He lowered his lips to hers and complied, as his hands roamed her exposed flesh experimentally. He skimmed her so softly that it tickled, but she didn't feel in the least like laughing. After he'd kissed her mouth quite thoroughly, he began nipping and suckling lightly at her neck. Then his lips, tongue, and teeth joined his hands in worshipping her naked bosom and midsection. Marion was passionate, yet gentle, and Violet couldn't help but notice the look of wonder on his face. His eyes were intent on her body, seemingly studying every detail. She lay perfectly still, enjoying his ministrations, though she found it nearly impossible to resist squirming in pleasure.

"This is … very nice," she informed him between labored breaths. "I do so like it … when you do this."

He stopped kissing her navel and looked up at her seriously. "You do?" he asked.

"Of course I do! Does that surprise you?" she returned.

"Well, yes. It does, actually," he confessed. "I had feared you might think it repugnant to be with me. Until now, I had thought you had been doing this out of a sense of responsibility. In my more optimistic moments, I had even hoped you might be doing it to please me. But I had never imagined you might … _enjoy_ it."

"Well, I do enjoy it. _Very much_. Only … " She hesitated momentarily, looking down, but then she found the courage to continue quietly. "Only I have been afraid that _you_ have seen as just your duty."

"Oh, Vi! How can you even think that?" He took her face in his hands and made her look at him. "I am so dreadfully sorry if my behavior has made you believe that. You are the most prefect creature on God's good earth, and I am the most fortunate man alive to have you as my own. Doing … this … with you … might be a matter of duty, but it is one that I carry out with great fervor! I long for a son as much as any man, and if we are someday favored with one, I shall be pleased and proud. But even if our relations never prove fruitful to _that_ end, I am quite deliriously happy with you nonetheless."

"So being … intimate … with me ... It _pleases_ you?"

"More than I can say, my love. Can you not tell?" And to prove his point, he kissed her with renewed vigor.

Feeling not quite brazen enough to remove the sheet entirely, Violet sat up. Keeping the top of the sheet drawn up to her waist, she untucked the bottom of the sheet from the foot of the bed and slowly inched it up her legs. She'd pulled it only as far as her ankles before Marion scrambled lower on the bed and took charge. He began kissing and fondling her calves as he moved slowly upward, peeling back the sheet as he went. By the time he'd made it to her knees, she was wriggling excitedly under his touch. When he started to stroke her thighs softly, higher and higher, Violet thought she must be the luckiest woman in the world. But when Marion arrived at her hips and pelvis, he stopped. Now the sheet concealed only the very part of her that most desperately needed his consideration. Before she was able to whimper her disapproval at the cessation of his advances, he looked up at her and whispered, "Turn over, please, dearest."

She did as he bade, rolling onto her stomach, and he pulled the sheet away from her, finally displaying the entire length of her naked body. He ran his hands reverently up and down the back of her legs, alternating between squeezing firmly and grazing lightly. Then he caressed and kissed her bare back and shoulders. Finally his hands came to rest on her buttocks. After a moment, to her sheer delight, he began to massage her loins. His hands were warm and soft, strong yet delicate. When she could lie still no longer, Violet turned over onto her back, and Marion gasped at the sight. She was thrilled that he found her so pleasing, but she was even happier when he nudged her legs apart and proceeded to explore the last mystery that remained to him. He'd touched her there before, but never in this way. It was usually no more than was required to achieve coupling. Now he studied her, carefully, thoroughly, with his eyes and his hands. He varied the pressure, friction, and frequency of his touches as he probed different locations and seemed to be noting her responses. Soon she was writhing in desire, but she stilled his hands and sat up next to him, not wanting to lose control just yet.

"Darling, that is lovely," she informed him. "Quite marvelous indeed. But I would like to … " Not wanting to say it outright, she moved her hands to the buttons of his nightshirt. "May I?"

Marion nodded dumbly. She began to unbutton it slowly, running her fingers over his chest as she worked her way down. He drew in a sudden breath, closed his eyes, and quivered under her touch. When she had undone all the buttons, she grasped the tails of his nightshirt, and he lifted his buttocks and then raised his arms so she could pull it out from underneath him and over his head. He took the garment from her and tossed it on the floor on his side of the bed. Seeing her husband's bare arms and chest for the first time had a more profound effect on Violet than she could have imagined. His muscles were firm, and his fair skin was covered with dark, curly hair. She ran her hands over his torso and arms, enjoying the contrast of soft flesh with coarse hair. Then she pressed his shoulders gently and urged him to lie back so that she could examine him. He relaxed onto the pillows, closed his eyes, and let her do as she pleased. Her eyes surveyed the glorious vision of what she'd previously only felt in the darkness and under the covers. She marveled at his fine physique. He was every bit as chiseled and well-formed as any marble statue she'd ever seen in a museum, but his flesh was supple and warm under her curious fingers. Utterly in awe at the sight before her, she leaned down to kiss his chest and stomach adoringly, while her hands continued to wander over the rest of him, making a detailed study and concentrating on one particular area that interested her most. Wanting to be closer, to feel _all_ of his skin against hers, she climbed on top of him, covering him completely with her body. He wrapped her in his embrace and kissed her passionately. After several heated moments he rolled her over beneath him.

"Darling, I am going to … We need to … " he panted in her ear.

"Yes, my love. Oh, yes," she purred.

He fumbled to find the extra sheet he'd brought and placed it under her. When their bodies were finally united, he moved slowly and gently, but given their state of advanced readiness, they were both swiftly sated. Remaining together for a moment longer they kissed tenderly and exchanged sweet endearments. Then Marion got up and went to the dresser. He found the pitcher and basin, wet the cloth, returned to bed, and lovingly washed Violet. His kindness brought a tear to her eye. After quickly cleaning himself, setting aside the wet cloth and soiled sheet from underneath her, and turning down the lamp, he settled back in bed next to her. He lay on his back with his arm around her, and she lay on her side, curled into him with her head and one hand on his chest.

"I love you," he said, kissing the top of her head.

"And I love you. Happy birthday, dear," she responded, kissing his chest.

It had taken so long for them to verbalize their love. They had signed notes and letters with polite words of affection, had employed respectable terms of endearment; but tonight they had finally spoken those precious words and expressed the sentiments behind them. Hearing the words brought tears to Violet's eyes, and she was glad Marion couldn't see the evidence of her sentimentality. Soon, she drifted off to sleep, thoroughly spent and supremely content.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

Violet woke the next morning to find herself twisted in the sheets – and tangled with Marion. They were both still naked and closely wrapped around each other. Memories of the previous night brought a smile to her face. Waking up in her husband's arms was lovely, and she thought how she'd like to wake like this every day. She watched him sleep and admired his handsome face. She couldn't resist reaching out a finger and tracing his eyebrows, his nose, his lips. He began to stir and opened one eye to look at her.

"Good morning, my sweet," he greeted her.

"And a pleasant morning to you, my darling," she returned.

"I suppose I must be going now," he lamented with a regretful sigh. "Jennings will be in soon."

"Oh, I should think not. I have given her orders that I do not wish to be disturbed this morning until I ring for her – much, _much_ later," replied Violet with both mischief and satisfaction in her voice.

Marion beamed at her adoringly. "What a clever woman you are! You think of everything! Does the slightest detail ever escape your attention?"

"I have been known, on occasion, to plan ahead wisely. I married _you_, did I not?"

"You did indeed, and I could not be happier about it." He paused to regard her earnestly. "Thank you for last night. It was truly wonderful."

"Yes, it was. Do you think you might like to stay again … tonight?" she asked tentatively.

"Honestly? You would like that?" he answered enthusiastically, looking like an excited puppy and assuaging her worries.

"Yes, my daft man. Yes! Tonight, and every night after."

She laughed and kissed him indulgently. Soon they were making love again – in the altogether, atop the bedsheets, in broad daylight.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

For the next two weeks, Violet fell asleep in Marion's arms every night and woke in his arms every morning. She dreaded the day when her monthly cycle would begin and she would have to send him away. She'd slept alone nearly every night since they'd been married, save his birthdays and these last two weeks; but now the thought of sleeping alone made her heart sick. When the dreaded day arrived, however, the usual signs _did not_. Nor was there any indication the next day. Nor the next. After the third day, Violet dared to hope that she and Marion just might be blessed again …


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N Thank you for supporting this story! I appreciate the likes and reblogs on tumblr and the follows, favorites, and especially the reviews here. To my guest reviewer "Anon," I'm glad that you're eager for more. Enjoy this most recent installment.**

Violet and Marion lay contentedly in each other's embrace on a cool September night.

"Violet, love," began Marion as he stroked her hair lovingly, "I hesitate to conjecture on such matters, but I must know. We have been together every night for weeks, and there has been no sign of ... Well, you have not banished me to my own chamber. Do you suppose you might be ... Dare I hope?"

"I cannot say, dearest. I have begun to surmise the same, though I must say, the prospect fills me with as much dread as it does joy," admitted Violet in a rare moment of candor and vulnerability.

Hearing her troubled words, he propped himself up, cupped her cheek, and looked her in the eyes. "Oh, my darling! No! You have nothing to fear. If you _are_ with child, all will be well. No harm will come to you or our little one – I swear it! You have already bravely borne more than any woman should ever be required to endure. Providence shall smile upon this time. I am certain of it."

They both knew he was powerless to fulfill his promise to keep her and the child from harm, and he could not possibly know that all would turn out well. Still, his conviction and optimism brought her strength and peace. She was further reassured when he reverently caressed her belly while covering her face with soothing kisses.

"When you speak that way, I am nearly convinced," she told him.

"Good. There is no cause for dread. If it is as we suspect, it is cause for great joy. I shall send for Dr. Lynch in the morning. We must know as soon as possible so that measures can be taken to ensure your well-being and comfort. In the meantime, what may _I_ do to ensure your well-being and comfort?"

"Well … you may begin by kissing me," she pronounced imperiously. "And after you have done so, I shall tell you if I require anything further."

"Certainly, my lady," he acknowledged, before dutifully obeying her command.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

_The following afternoon…_

"Well, doctor?" asked Violet.

Dr. Lynch had asked and she had answered all the obligatory questions, and he had just finished examining her. He was now packing up his bag.

"Well, my lady, it is still rather early to tell for certain. However, as you know, when a healthy woman who is normally so regular suddenly experiences such a delay in her rhythm, pregnancy _is_ the most likely explanation."

"Yes. Yes, of course," Violet responded evenly.

"I shall come and see you again three weeks from now. We shall know more then. You have no travel planned before that time?"

"No. None at all."

"Good. I would request that you not leave the Abbey, even to go to the village. A bumpy ride in a carriage would not be wise. You may go outside while the weather is still fine. A leisurely turn about the grounds with Mr. Crawley, in the fresh air and sunshine, will do you some good. But make certain not to exert yourself overmuch, and stay indoors if it is cold or damp outside. Get plenty of rest, and be sure to eat and drink enough."

"Certainly, Dr. Lynch. I shall do exactly as you say."

"I shall see you again in three weeks' time, my lady." He excused himself with a nod and a polite bow.

Violet had to wait only two minutes, alone with her conflicting emotions, before her husband burst into her chamber, as she knew he would.

"Is it true?" he asked, standing by her bedside and grasping her hands.

"The doctor believes it is likely," answered Violet with a smile, beginning to share his enthusiasm.

He sat down on the bed and pulled her into his arms. "Oh, my Violet! My beautiful wife! That is wonderful news! You make me so happy!"

She laughed at his exuberance. "Yes, Marion, I am delighted, as well." When he calmed, she drew back and looked at him seriously. "Do you suppose it is a boy?"

"I cannot possibly know."

"I almost hope it is a girl. If it _is_, then I can be assured of your continued attentions. I fear once you have an heir, you shall have done with me," Violet tried to joke, but the worry was evident in her voice.

"My dearest love, you could not be more wrong!" He tried to assuage her anxiety with a kiss. "You may be assured of my attentions – and my affections – even long after we have a nursery _overflowing_ with children! And if we are to be blessed with a son this time, I shall resume my attentions with renewed vigor. Do you know why?"

"Why is that?" Violet wanted to know.

"I should very much like another little girl. I am absolutely besotted with our daughter, because she is so like her mother."

"Yes. Rather _too_ like, I fear," she responded dryly.

Marion chuckled. "Indeed. She surely is precocious and headstrong. I must say that I do anticipate having to mediate many heated deliberations between the two of you as she grows older."

"And I shall expect you always to take my side."

"Always, my darling. I shall be always _on_ your side and _by_ your side," he vowed earnestly.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

Marion was true to his word. As Violet's pregnancy advanced, he spent nearly every minute with her, day and night. During the early weeks, he took her for walks about the grounds on beautiful autumn afternoons, always solicitous about her condition, constantly asking if she were too warm or too cold, too tired, hungry or thirsty. He took tea with her in the drawing room, read to her in the library, and sat practically on top of her at family meals. At first, she found his excessive concern endearing. And when his kind treatments became somewhat suffocating, she reminded herself that this was exactly what she had so ardently desired but previously lacked.

He still slept in her bed every night, despite the doctor's admonitions to limit their relations and to keep their interactions docile. Rather than forgoing intimacy entirely, they became creative in the ways they expressed their love, and these new manifestations left them no less gratified. And on the nights when they did nothing more than sleep in one another's embrace, Marion's hand resting protectively on Violet's growing belly, they were just as pleased.

Marion always tiptoed back to his own bedroom in the wee hours, before the servants were up and about. He did this to protect Violet's honor. It would never do for Haney to find his master's bed empty and untouched, or worse yet, for Jennings to find her mistress in bed with a man. Even if the servants knew or suspected, they kept up the ruse and pretended that they were wholly ignorant. A respectable lady did not spend every night, all night, with a man, even if he were her husband whom she adored.

On one particular morning, Violet woke to find the sun streaming into the room around the edges of the still drawn curtains and Marion's head still cradled to her breast.

"Marion! Darling!" she whispered as she shook him gently. "You must wake up. We both have overslept. It can only be a miracle that Jennings has not yet found us. We are very fortunate; she must be late today."

Roused from his peaceful slumber, he responded as soon as his drowsy mind apprehended the situation. "Oh, goodness. Yes, of course. I must be off, then."

He sprang from the bed and donned his dressing gown. Then he leaned over her for one, last, lingering kiss, before she shooed him off with a laugh, and he disappeared through the door to his own quarters. Then she lay back and waited for Jennings to arrive and tend to her. Soon the lady's maid arrived with her breakfast tray.

"Good morning, my lady," the older woman greeted her mistress cheerfully as she set the tray on the bed. "Did you sleep well?"

"Rather too well, I am afraid," lamented Violet. "It must be very late."

"Not very, my lady, and the doctor has said you need your rest."

"Still, I should not wish to become lazy. You need not let me sleep until all hours."

"Actually … " began the lady's maid, clearly uncomfortable. "May I be a bit forward, my lady? I have something to confess."

"Goodness! That sounds salacious. By all means, do tell," demanded Violet. "Now I _must_ know."

"I have come already once this morning, earlier. But I found you still asleep – with Mr. Marion." Here Jennings looked down at her shoes. "You both looked so peaceful. I could not bear to disturb you. I felt as if I were intruding, so I left quietly."

"Oh, I see … " worried Violet.

"If I may be so bold, my lady, your husband worships you. Being unmarried, I have no firsthand experience, but during my years in service, I have seen many husbands who do _not_ love their wives. Mr. Marion dotes on you like no man I have ever seen. And I can tell that you love him, too. You are truly blessed, and I am pleased for you. I have rarely seen so happy a match among people in your situation. So when I found Mr. Marion still here this morning, I was neither scandalized nor surprised."

Violet fixed her lady's maid with a stare that was somehow simultaneously stern and grateful. "All that may be true, Jennings, yet I do not wish to be the subject of gossip. I trust you will keep such information to yourself."

"Oh, my lady, I know not of what you speak. I am in possession of no information that others might find the least bit intriguing," Jennings assured her. "But even if I were, I should surely hold my peace. Now, if you require nothing further, I shall leave you to your breakfast."

"Very good," said Violet. The maid nodded, curtsied, and made to leave the room, but her young mistress called out to her, "And Jennings … Your tact and sensitivity do you much credit. I thank you."

"No need, my lady," replied Jennings, as she closed the door quietly behind her.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

In November, Dr. Lynch confined Violet to her rooms; he deemed ascending and descending the stairs unnecessarily strenuous and dangerous, given her history. Violet found her incarceration extremely trying and quickly became bored. She was far removed from all the goings-on in the house and consequently was excluded from the latest and most titillating news. Marion was her steadfast companion, but she had other callers, too, to break the monotony. The countess visited for a brief time most afternoons, but the earl never came. Young Rosamund was brought in for regular visits, as well; the young girl brightened her mother's spirits considerably and provided a most entertaining distraction.

Occasionally, Violet's society friends came to call, and they apprised her of the most important happenings among her circle of acquaintances. Marion had had her adjoining sitting room rearranged so that it was suitable for entertaining her lady friends. A small table could comfortably accommodate Violet herself and as many as three others for the purpose of taking tea or playing cards or board games.

One day in mid-December, just after luncheon, as Violet sat at her desk writing a letter, Marion rapped at her chamber door, calling, "Vi? May I come in? I have someone here who would like to see you."

"Of course, dearest. You may enter," she answered, having no idea whatsoever who the surprise guest might be. The door swung wide, and in breezed her sister.

"Rose! How good to see you!" cried Violet, standing from the desk to greet her. "I have just been writing you a letter!"

"Well, then, I shall spare you the trouble. Here I am!" Rose embraced and kissed her younger sister.

"What a lovely surprise! How good of you to come! Are Edward and little Susan with you?"

"Oh, yes. Edward has just taken Susan and Rosamund to the stables. Rosamund was rather eager to show her cousin the ponies. My, how she's grown since the summer!"

"As has your Susan, no doubt. I am eager to see her. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit? How long will you stay?"

"Marion wrote and invited us to stay for the holidays. We'll be here until the new year."

"Marvelous!" Violet beamed at Rose and then at Marion, who stood watching the two sisters exchange niceties. His look of quiet pride told her he was obviously pleased to have made his wife so happy, despite his distaste for his sister-in-law.

Rose, Edward, and Susan stayed through the holidays and were persuaded to remain well into January. Their presence was greatly beneficial to Violet, and she felt a cold twinge of sadness when she stood at her bedroom window one bright winter morning to watch their carriage leave the drive. But another visit had been promised, to take place shortly after the infant was born, and she consoled herself with that.

The pang of regret she'd felt just a moment earlier was replaced with a warm rush of affection when she turned to find her husband standing behind her.

"I have just seen them off," he announced.

"I know. I saw the carriage drive away. Thank you, darling, for arranging their visit," she said as she wrapped her arms around Marion's neck and kissed his cheek. "I know that Mother and Father cannot have approved of entertaining guests for such an extended stay."

"Father is not well enough to approve or disapprove of anything, and Mother objected far less than you might think. I daresay she was glad of the company."

"It must have been a real trial for _you_, though. You can barely tolerate Rose at the _best_ of times. And at the worst of times … "

"I would do _anything_ to make you happy. I hope you know that."

"I do know. Enduring Rose for a whole month is ample proof of your devotion," she informed him with a coy smirk. "And you _have_ made me very, _very_ happy," she told him before sighing contentedly and resting her head on his chest.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

A month later, as Violet sat in bed reading, Marion entered her room carrying Rosamund.

"Hello, darling. How is my little lady today?" asked Violet, greeting her daughter.

Marion held Rosamund where she could reach Violet, and the little girl kissed her mother on the cheek. Then her father set her down gently on the bed and sat himself next to her.

"Very well, thank you, Mama. How are you?" At just shy of four years old, Rosamund was indeed quite a little lady, having already learned the proper and polite responses to the most of the questions she might be asked.

"Have you been a good girl for Nanny? She tells me you shall be ready to start lessons soon."

"Yes, Mama. I have been good. Papa says that if I am _very_ good, he shall tell Carson to let me ride one of the ponies all by myself! And he says that when I am eight years old, I may have my own!"

"Eight?! Is that so?" She smiled at her husband. "You have your papa wrapped round your little finger."

"Quite right." Marion agreed. "And how could she not? I would do anything for my two favorite girls." And he kissed Violet.

"Three!" exclaimed Rosamund excitedly.

"What do you mean, '_three_,' Angel?" asked Marion with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism.

"You have _three_ girls now, Papa! Has no one told you? Mama is going to have a baby! I shall have a sister to play with me."

Marion shot Violet a sideways, concerned look. "Who told you that your mama is going to have a baby?"

"I know things. I listen when people talk. And I see that Mama's belly is bigger," expounded the young girl knowingly. The child was astute beyond her years. "Is that where my sister is?"

They hadn't told her about Violet's pregnancy, agreeing it was better to wait until they could no longer avoid it. Evidently, that time had come. Realizing that any denial would be futile, Violet patted her stomach. "Yes, my dear. That is where the baby is. But we cannot yet know if it is a girl."

"_Of course_, she is a girl! A boy would not want to have tea parties with me or play with dolls. He would chase me with a wooden sword like Cousin James does. She _must_ be a girl!"

Both Violet and Marion laughed fondly at their daughter's logic.

"But, darling, we cannot promise you a sister," warned Marion gently. "We should be very happy to have another sweet, young lady just like you, but the baby might be a boy. Should you be terribly disappointed with a brother?"

"Oh," said the clever little girl, clearly deep in thought and resigning herself to a decision. "Well, if she is a boy, then I shall love her still."

Violet looked at Marion and suppressed a chuckle. As she sat blissfully with her husband, daughter, and unborn child, she allowed herself to believe that the pall of sorrow and misfortune that had hung over her family for the past few years might finally be lifted away.

**A/N I'm not too proud to beg for reviews. Really, I'm not. See? Here I am, begging for reviews. Pleeeeeease? Your comments really do make me very happy.**


	4. Chapter 4

Violet was consigned strictly to her bed in later months. Though Dr. Lynch did not suspect twins and she was the very picture of health, her difficult child-bearing history justified extra caution. She had almost forgotten, since her last confinement, the maddening inactivity. Idleness did not suit Violet Crawley. At least in earlier months, she had been able to move about her rooms. Now she was hardly allowed to move at all. And to make matters worse, she enjoyed less and less of her husband's company.

Marion divided his time among keeping company with his wife and their unborn child, visiting his young daughter in the nursery and taking her for walks, keeping vigil at his dying father's bedside, and attempting to bolster his mother's spirits. The old earl was gravely ill, and he was expected to last no more than a few weeks. Violet suspected he was lingering only out of sheer determination – or desperation – until he could be sure she'd given birth to a healthy son. She was fairly confident he would pass peacefully as soon as he had assurance that his title was secure.

In the weeks just prior to the birth, Dr. Lynch was run ragged. Lord Grantham was dying, and though there was little the doctor could do for him, Lady Grantham insisted on summoning the surgeon almost daily, "to ensure that His Lordship is as comfortable as possible." In truth, it was _she_ who was comforted by the physician's presence; even though the earl was beyond help, it still seemed necessary to have a man of medicine present. Marion confessed to Violet one day, that while his mother was surely trying Dr. Lynch's patience, Marion, too, felt better having him nearby as Violet's time drew near. Finally, when it was thought that the earl might die at any moment and that Violet might give birth at any moment, a guest room was prepared for the doctor, and he essentially stayed at the Abbey, leaving only two or three times when he was called away for emergencies in the village.

During the same time, Marion was also worn thin. He served as head of the family in all practical matters, if not in title. He was responsible for the management of the estate as well as the running of the house and family. He attended dutifully to his dying father and already grieving mother. He found time to dote on his precious daughter, who was keenly aware of unusual events occurring in the house, even if she couldn't fully appreciate all the implications of those events. And finally, he devoted every minute he could to meeting the needs of a wife who was heavy with child. By the time he collapsed into bed with Violet every night, he had barely enough energy left to kiss her goodnight before succumbing to exhaustion. She wondered how long the dear man could keep it up.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

One beautiful afternoon in early May, when the sun shone brightly and a warm breeze blew in through the open windows in Violet's bedchamber, Marion came to her looking even more haggard and distraught than usual. She knew that the stress of the situation must have been weighing heavily on him, but she'd never seen him looking quite like this.

"What is it, darling?" she asked, as he sat down next to her on the bed and took her hand. "Is it Father? Has he …?"

"No, not yet," he told her. "But very soon, I fear."

She nodded her head in understanding and reached out to stroke his cheek. "Is it something else, then? What troubles you so?"

"I have just seen Dr. Lynch. He asked to speak with me after he examined you."

"Is it the child? No, it cannot be! He assured me everything was fine."

"The child is well. _Too_ well, perhaps. Dr. Lynch is concerned that the infant might be … too large."

"Too large?" asked Violet in confusion.

Marion looked down at their hands in his lap. "Yes. He is afraid you shall have a difficult delivery."

"Oh, I see."

"In fact, he fears for your very life." His words were broken, and he began to cry. He wrapped his arms around her and burrowed his head into the crook of her neck, where she could feel his hot tears. Her own eyes became moist, but she resolutely resisted sobbing.

"Can nothing be done?" she asked quietly.

He drew in a deep breath, sniffed, and nodded. "He has recommended a … _procedure_." He spoke the word with contempt and bitterness.

"Yes?"

"If you are in distress, he shall … use instruments to … " He was unable to continue.

"To do what, Marion?" Violet asked, becoming increasingly alarmed.

"To … _crush the infant's skull_ … to allow delivery."

"No!" cried Violet, horrified. "He shall do no such thing!"

Marion chuckled sadly, ironically. "He thought you might say that. And _I knew_ you would."

"Certainly, I've said that! I will not allow Dr. Lynch or anyone else to take our child's life in order to save my own! That is unthinkable."

"But darling, you must understand," he implored urgently. "If the baby's head is too large, there is little the doctor can do for you. The child will likely not survive, either, and then you _both_ shall die."

"But the child is healthy," she reasoned. "What about the possibility of a cesarean birth? I understand the procedure has saved the lives of many infants."

"Yes, but almost no mothers' lives. I have asked. The doctor has said that you would stand one chance in ten. He would not consider attempting that operation unless you were already near death," Marion informed her.

"But by then, the baby also might be near death! He must not wait that long. No, you must insist that he attempt it at once if our child is in danger – regardless of _my_ condition," insisted Violet bravely.

"But … Vi!" His eyes shone with a wild desperation that almost frightened her.

"As you have said, if he does nothing, I am likely to die notwithstanding. Promise me, Marion! You must tell him to do what is necessary to save our child!" Violet pleaded, becoming desperate herself.

Marion did not respond.

"Marion Crawley, you give me your word!" she ordered.

Through sobs and tears, he nodded his assent, and she sighed in relief.

He held her face between his large, strong hands and addressed her earnestly. "You know, my love, not one other woman among a million would approach this challenge with as much strength and determination as you have."

"One among a million? Then the odds are in our favor. I need be only one of ten." Her dark humor only earned her a terrified, disapproving look from her husband, and Violet knew she needed to assuage him. "But I am sure it shall never come to that. How can Dr. Lynch possibly even know that the child is so large?"

"The same way he knew … The same way he knew that you were carrying … twins," he said sadly. He paused at the painful memory before continuing. "He explained that he can get a fairly accurate idea just from _your_ size and from pressing on you to feel the child inside."

Violet thought back to the doctor's earlier examination and remembered that he _had_ expended considerable effort poking and prodding, pushing and pressing. "Still, he cannot know with any great certainty. Women give birth to large babies every day, and they have done so for thousands of years."

"That is true. And the doctor concedes that there is a chance that you and the infant will both be well, but even in the best of circumstances, he still expects it to be exceedingly strenuous."

"Marion, darling, no birth is easy. That is why it is called 'labor,'" she said dryly. "All shall be well, my dear. You shall see."

"Violet Crawley, I have never loved you more than I do in this instant." He engulfed her in a fierce embrace, squeezed mightily, and dropped frantic kisses to her cheek, neck, shoulder – any place he could reach. Despite his agitation, Violet felt remarkably calm and secure. She truly believed that she could prevail through sheer dint of will, but even if she failed, she was confident in her choice. She would give Marion a son or die trying.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

For several days, Violet and Marion spoke no more of the imminent birth, though each day brought them nearer to the event which was anticipated with both hope and dread. As they lay in bed one night, she asked after her ailing father-in-law.

Marion sighed wearily. "Every day he asks when his grandson shall be born. Nothing else he says is sensible, but he is perfectly lucid when speaking of the child. He says I must have an heir."

"And so you shall – very soon," Violet tried to reassure her husband. She knew how unbearable was the burden placed on him and how heavily he felt the weight of his responsibility.

"Are you _that_ convinced he is a boy? Rosamund will not be pleased." He smiled and leaned over to kiss her, resting his hand on her protruding midsection.

"But _I_ shall be very pleased indeed to have a son who is just like his papa," she returned, kissing him back.

"Heaven help us!" Marion's feeble attempt at humor was rendered ineffective by the discouraged sigh that followed it.

"Oh, Marion. Can you not just tell Father that I have delivered a healthy son?" suggested Violet. "If he is that far gone, he shall never know the difference."

"Believe me, darling I have considered it. But I cannot lie to him. If I were to lie to him, surely fate would take the boy just to spite me." Just then, the baby kicked enthusiastically under Marion's hand, and the melancholy mood faded. "He is quite animated this evening," observed Marion with a fond chuckle.

"I believe he must be as impatient as _we_ are," Violet remarked.

They settled more comfortably, Violet lying on her side with her back pressed to Marion, and he on his side, holding her tightly to his chest, his arm draped protectively over their child in her womb. Soon, she heard his soft snoring and smiled to herself. She was not particularly tired herself, having only lain in bed all day, just as she had for the past three months. Knowing sleep would elude her for some time yet, she contented herself with lying in her husband's warm embrace and listening to the soothing sounds of his steady breathing.

Before long, though, her peace and calm was disturbed. Her infant's restless movements were soon eclipsed by an uncomfortable tightening of her muscles. As the cramping grew stronger, more frequent, and longer in duration, she rolled over and gently woke Marion.

"Marion, dear," she said evenly, "go and wake the doctor, please. And call for Jennings."

"Are you quite well?" he asked, suddenly panicked.

"Yes, I am fine. Only the time has come."

"Oh!" he cried. "Yes, of course."

He sprang from the bed and flew from the room, his dressing gown trailing behind as he clumsily tried to put it on. He returned mere moments later with Dr. Lynch, Jennings, two young maids, and Mrs. Burns, the housekeeper. The doctor asked Marion to wait in the corridor and instructed the maids to fetch clean sheets and hot water. Jennings and Mrs. Burns made Violet as comfortable as possible while Dr. Lynch examined her.

"My lady, it does appear that you are in labor," he confirmed, unnecessarily. "You are still in the early stages, and it will likely be some time yet, but things are progressing. I shall go and send word to the midwife and the nurses. Should you like to see Mr. Crawley for a moment before I must send him away?"

"Yes! I must see him," she demanded.

The doctor nodded to Mrs. Burns, who opened the door and beckoned Marion inside. Taking Dr. Lynch's exit as their cue, Mrs. Burns and Jennings also made themselves scarce, leaving the young couple alone. Marion sat down on the bed and took Violet in his arms.

"I wish you could stay," she lamented. "It seems somehow wrong that you should play such a vital role in the child's conception, right here in this very bed, yet be denied seeing his entrance into this world."

He gave a wry huff. "My darling, you would not want me here. I fear I would do more harm than good. Far from providing you with any support, I would draw from your own fortitude and leave you worse off."

"Nonsense. Your presence would be a great comfort, regardless of your state of agitation."

"Nevertheless, you would expend more effort in calming me than you would in delivering the child."

"Oh!" Violet winced and grimaced at the onset of another contraction, but she soon regained her composure and schooled her features into a neutral expression so as not to alarm Marion.

"Oh, my sweet Violet! Would that I could take away your pain!"

"It is nothing I regard. The moment I hold our son, it shall be forgotten."

The doctor and the maids returned, followed by Mrs. Burns and Jennings.

"I am very sorry, Mr. Crawley, but I must ask you to leave now," Dr. Lynch announced.

"I shall be in the smoking room," he said to the doctor. "You understand that I must be consulted if there is any question … "

"I understand. I promise I shall send word the very moment there is word to be sent."

Then Marion turned to address Violet in hushed tones. "I love you very much, dearest, and I could not be prouder of you and our little family."

"I love you also, and I shall see you soon," she told him. "But Marion, you must remember your promise. You gave me your solemn word." She needed to believe he would respect her wishes. Of course he would, but she felt the need to remind him and to extract another oath.

"Very well," he choked out feebly, wiping at his eyes. He bent down and placed a kiss to her stomach. "I shall see you soon, little one. Be good for your mama – else you must wait until you are _ten_ before you have your own pony." He kissed Violet, full on the lips, long and hard, in front of all present, and then vanished out the door.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

The rest of the night and the wee hours of the morning passed in a blur for Violet. The doctor gave instructions – _sit up please_; _now, lie back down_; _turn on your side for a moment_; _breathe in … and now out_ – which she obeyed as well as she could, given her state, which vacillated between extreme discomfort and significant pain. The team of nurses and maids scurried about, exchanging soiled linens for clean ones, bringing fresh water, plumping pillows, and preparing a bassinet for the little one. When the focus of activity changed from "labor" to "delivery," matters became frenzied and tense. After what seemed an eternity of pushing and struggling, Violet was in extreme pain and felt weaker than she ever had before; and still, the child had not come.

Though Dr. Lynch revealed nothing explicitly, Violet could tell that he was troubled. He wore a severe expression and conferred quietly with a nurse and the midwife. The midwife left the room – to fetch Marion to speak with the doctor, Violet presumed – and only then did Violet become truly frightened … and all the more determined.

The next time a vicious contraction racked her body, she sent up a fervent prayer, gritted her teeth, and pushed with a might previously unknown to her. She felt a great burning which was followed quickly by the relief of the child slipping out from her body. After a brief silence, the healthy infant's wail filled the air, and Violet collapsed back on the pillows, exhausted.

Just then, Marion burst through the door.

"I am sorry, doctor," the midwife apologized. "I asked Mr. Crawley to wait."

"I heard crying," explained Marion. "What in Heaven's name … ?"

"All is well, Mr. Crawley," Dr. Lynch reassured him with a genuine smile. "Your wife and _son_ are both fine, as you can see. But we are not yet finished here, and I must ask you to wait outside for the time being."

Once so assuaged, Marion obediently waited in the corridor, while the doctor finished with Violet. Under the housekeeper's supervision, the maids cleaned up the mess, the nurses cleaned up mother and baby, and Jennings made Violet look presentable again to receive her husband. Once the boy was settled and wrapped in blankets, the midwife placed him in his mother's arms and called his father into the room.

Marion rushed to the bedside and stood beaming at his wife and son. Violet, for her part, tore her eyes from her son only long enough to smile at her husband.

"May I offer my congratulations, sir? He's a fine little lad, healthy and strong," the doctor offered.

"Thank you," said Marion, never diverting his eyes from his family.

"Lady Violet has performed nothing short of a miracle today," said Dr. Lynch, "but you must see that that she rests and regains her strength. She has been through a difficult time, and she must be very weak."

"I respectfully disagree, doctor," insisted Marion proudly. "No one can rightly say that my wife is weak. Lady Violet Crawley is the strongest woman I have ever known, even now – _especially_ now."

"I shall not dispute that, sir," conceded the physician. "I beg your pardon."

After some final instructions and additional congratulations and well wishes, the doctor took his leave, and rest of the attendants left with him. At last, Violet and Marion were left alone with the little, white bundle of blankets that contained one half of their hopes for the future.

As Marion stood next to the bed, still a bit awestruck, Violet invited him to sit next to her. "Marion, dear, come and meet your son."

He sat gingerly next to her and stroked the boy's head. "Hello, little Robert. Look at you! Such a strong and handsome lad you are!" The baby was alert, but quiet and content.

"Just like his papa," remarked Violet.

"Oh, Vi!" said Marion, looking at her with unadulterated adoration. "You are truly remarkable! Just when I think I could never be prouder … never love you more … you surprise me and do something like this! You have once again made me the happiest man alive."

Young Robert took that moment to voice his sudden discontent, likely stemming from hunger, and the midwife appeared from nowhere to bustle him off to the wet nurse. Marion settled Violet more comfortably within her sea of pillows and blankets, and she drifted off to sleep, thoroughly fatigued but supremely happy.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Hours later, Violet awoke to a sight that warmed her heart. On the bed next to her, sound asleep, lay her husband; and atop his chest, also sound asleep, lay her newborn son, the future Earl of Grantham. So enamored of her men was she, that it took her a moment to notice that something was amiss: Marion wore a black armband. At the sound of her gasp, he stirred.

"Oh, no, darling!" she said. "I'm so sorry."

He related the tale numbly. "After you and the lad were settled, I went to see Father – to tell him the good news. Mother was with him. They were very pleased, of course. He told me, 'Well done, boy. You have a son, and the Crawley name shall live on through him. But you shall never rest easy until the day you see _your son's_ son.' I left him with Mother.

"Half an hour later, when I was in the nursery with Rosamund, Sumner appeared. 'I beg your pardon, _my lord_,' he said, 'but the _Dowager_ would like to see you. I offer you my deepest condolences.' And that was all. I went to Father's chamber to find the doctor there with Mother, but there was nothing more to be done."

"Oh, you poor dear!" Violet stroked his face and hair.

Just then, someone rapped gently at the door.

"Yes?" she called.

The door opened to reveal Jennings. "Begging your pardon, Your Ladyship, Your Lordship, but Nanny is here. Miss Rosamund would like to meet her brother, if it is convenient."

"Thank you, Jennings. Send them in," Violet said.

Nanny entered, with young Rosamund in tow. The little girl clambered up onto her mother's bed and kissed her parents, and Nanny was dismissed.

"Hello, Angel," said Marion. "Would you like to see him?"

"Yes, Papa," she answered.

Marion pushed backed the blankets a bit to reveal more of the baby's face. "This is Robert."

"He is very small," observed Rosamund.

"Yes, he is, my dear," agreed Violet," but he shall grow quickly. And soon he shall be big enough to play with you. Should you like that?"

"Only if he plays nicely," the young girl qualified.

"Well, you must show him how," her mother pointed out.

"Will he listen to me?" she wanted to know.

"If you are kind to him," Violet told her.

"May I hold him, Papa?"

"Certainly, Angel."

Violet arranged her daughter securely between herself and her husband, and Marion placed the sleeping baby in his sister's arms, keeping a steadying hand underneath him.

"I think I shall like him," decided Rosamund, rubbing Robert's downy hair and kissing his forehead.

"You are not too disappointed that he is a boy?" wondered Violet.

"No, I am glad. Now when Cousin James visits, he can have a sword fight with _Robert_ and leave _me_ in peace!"

The new countess watched her earl doting on their children. She had fulfilled her purpose as a wife and relieved her husband of the burden of doing his duty. She could never possibly foresee what the future might hold, but in that moment, the House of Grantham and her little family were secure, and Violet Crawley was happy.


End file.
